The East Wind
by C. Ciel
Summary: "Sherlock Holmes is cold, bitter and capable of wiping everything from the face of the earth; just like the East Wind." Claire Doyle comes back to London to seek help and discover things about her past that have been kept hidden. Rating may change.


_**A/N : Just an idea that was running inside of my head for far too long. Hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **P.s The story takes place before season 1. :)**_

* * *

 _The East Wind_

 _A few_ _light_ _taps_ _upon_ _the_ _glass_ _of_ _her_ _window_ _snapped_ _her_ _attention_ _to_ _it. The_ _snow_ _had_ _begun_ _falling_ _again. Sleepily, she_ _jumped_ _from_ _her_ _bed_ _as_ _silently_ _as_ _possible_ _and_ _stepped_ _towards_ _it, gazing_ _the_ _flakes, silver_ _and_ _dark, falling_ _gently_ _on_ _the_ _garden_ _below, covering_ _it_ _in a large_ _white_ _blanket_ _that_ _she_ _hadn't_ _seen_ _for_ _almost a week. She_ _let_ _out a small_ _breath, giggling_ _softly_ _as_ _fog_ _formed_ _on_ _the_ _glass. Her_ _pinky_ _reached_ _out, carefully_ _brushing_ _against_ _it_ _and_ _drawing a straight_ _line._

 _Enchanted, she_ _looked_ _at_ _the_ _light_ _of_ _the_ _moon_ _that_ _reflected_ _on_ _the_ _snow_ _with a happy_ _sigh. It_ _looked_ _as_ _if_ _somebody_ _had_ _thrown_ _sparkly, little_ _diamonds_ _in_ _it._

 _It_ _was a wonderful_ _night, she_ _wouldn't_ _have_ _minded_ _going_ _outside, despite_ _the_ _apparent_ _cold. She_ _knew_ _though_ _her_ _mother_ _would_ _scold_ _her_ _for_ _leaving_ _so_ _late_ _at_ _night_ _and_ _in_ _such a weather_ _no_ _less, with_ _nobody_ _to_ _watch_ _over_ _her. She_ _had_ _already_ _let_ _her_ _stay_ _in a tad_ _later_ _than_ _usual_ _so_ _she_ _wanted_ _to_ _remain_ _in_ _her_ _good_ _graces_ _for a little_ _while_ _longer_ _since_ _it_ _was_ _her_ _birthday_ _as_ _well_ _as_ _Christmas_ _in a few_ _hours._

 _Sighing_ _one_ _last_ _time, she_ _got_ _down_ _from_ _her_ _pink_ _stool_ _that_ _helped_ _her_ _get a better_ _view_ _from_ _the_ _window_ _and_ _she_ _rushed_ _back_ _to_ _her_ _bed, searching_ _for_ _the_ _book_ _under_ _her_ _pillows. Lifting_ _it_ _in_ _the_ _air_ _triumph fully, she_ _slid_ _from_ _the_ _light_ _purple_ _cover_ _and_ _opened_ _the_ _door_ _hastily, making_ _haste_ _through_ _the_ _hallways_ _with_ _her_ _parents_ _room_ _as_ _her_ _destination._

 _As_ _one_ _of_ _her_ _gifts_ _for_ _her_ _birthday, she_ _had_ _asked_ _for a bedtime_ _story_ _and_ _to_ _sleep_ _with_ _them_ _the_ _entire_ _night. They_ _had_ _both_ _happily_ _agreed, letting_ _her_ _out_ _of_ _bed a little_ _later_ _than_ _usual_ _too._

 _When_ _she_ _got_ _to_ _their_ _bedroom_ _though; there_ _was_ _nobody_ _inside. Shrugging_ _it_ _off_ _though, she_ _went_ _to_ _her_ _father's_ _office, sure_ _that_ _he_ _had_ _forgotten_ _how_ _much_ _the_ _time_ _had_ _passed_ _while_ _working. Mommy_ _would_ _have_ _gone_ _to_ _scold_ _and_ _fetch_ _him, surely. The_ _thought_ _made_ _her_ _grin_ _and_ _chuckle_ _mischievously._

 _And_ _so, she_ _run_ _towards_ _his_ _office, her_ _light_ _but_ _hasty_ _footsteps_ _getting_ _lost_ _in_ _the_ _soft_ _carpets. She_ _didn't_ _seem_ _to_ _notice_ _the_ _smell_ _of_ _smoke_ _coming_ _from_ _downstairs_ _though_ _and_ _continued_ _on_ _her_ _merry_ _way._

 _Turning_ _around_ _the_ _corner, she_ _saw_ _the_ _grand_ _doors_ _open_ _widely. It_ _was_ _quite_ _queer_ _really, her_ _father_ _never_ _let_ _the_ _doors_ _open_ _no_ _matter_ _how_ _was_ _in. Curiously, she_ _approached_ _them, expecting_ _to_ _see_ _her_ _mother_ _next_ _to_ _the_ _fireplace_ _and_ _her_ _father_ _on_ _his_ _desk…_

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Why is that dreams are so few, so far between? They're like mischievous children, hiding underneath nightmares and weird apparitions. These kinds of dreams are the ones where the world is finally right, where no hardships exist and everything for once makes actual sense.

And, really, why is that these rare dreams are always interrupted without fail?

Claire groaned softly and opened her eyes, blinking to get used to the sunlight before her gaze fell on the man sitting opposite of her who was just picking up his mobile to answer. Mycroft Holmes in return did not seem to care about her apparent frustration on being woken up. Instead, he stood up and motioned for her follow him. Rubbing her eyes, she looked out of the window, surprised to see that they had arrived at last.

Wordlessly, she picked up her duffel bag and followed the other man outside out his private airplane. The green fields around them, now turning slightly orange, spread as far as the eye could see and in the distance, the sun in all of its glory; surrounded by reds, oranges and dark purples was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever laid eye upon. The cool breeze blew her hair softly behind her.

She took the stairs quickly, running after Mycroft as he had almost gotten into the car that awaited for them, sure that if she was late he would just leave without her or be irritated by her childish-almost behaviour. Before he could glare at her, she settled inside, leaving her bag to the driver and gazed at the sunset once more. With a tiny, demure smile she turned to the older man before going back to her business. Though, she couldn't help but try to listen in to his conversation with whoever it was on the other line.

"For God's sake, can't you behave like a grown up for _once_ in your life?" He murmured, rolling his eyes at the reply that came from the other side before they hung up. Exasperated, he pinched the bridge of his nose and placed his mobile back in his suit's pocket. He seemed thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh.

"Not very happy with your phone call it seems." Claire commented crossing her legs, trying to get more comfortable on the leather seats.

"Our trip won't take too long hopefully." He replied, dodging her statement. " Anthea has bought the clothes you requested." She thanked him, grateful that she would have something else to wear once she got there but he just waved his hand as if to say it was no problem before opening his phone once again and texting something quickly.

Truth to be told, she wasn't really familiar with Mycroft Holmes. Rather, she knew next to nothing about him apart from the fact that her late father was friends with his and that he was the only one who could help her with her _little_ problem.

She tapped her fingers tips on her knee nervously. "Are you sure we can fix _this_?" she questioned, looking at him doubtful.

"Of course." He said confidently, almost looking insulted at her question. Somehow, that did not really put her at ease.

"Oh and stop tapping your fingers, would you. It's giving me a _headache_." At that, she ceased immediately and crossed her arms over her chest.

Soon, they had reached London, just passing over Westminster Bridge and later Buckingham palace. It had been years since she had stepped foot in the city but she still remembered every little thing she used to see when she was younger quite clearly; it was as if she had never left. Nostalgia washed over her as she gazed at the decorated for Christmas shops and the people crossing the streets as they got closer to Hyde Park, which she recalled that she absolutely adored a few years ago. Anytime she was with her family in London she would beg them to go.

It was strange, being back in this city; it made her feel quite nervous on one hand but on the other she felt excited to be able to see it once more.

"It seems my brother is home at last." Mycroft murmured, gazing at his mobile. He sighed, something that he seemed to do a lot these past few hours, which she, despite not knowing him for a very long time, found out of character for him. She came to the conclusion then, that it was his brother that he had been speaking with earlier and that they might not have the greatest of relationships.

Sitting back on her sit and quitting her wistful gaze of the city. She thought of how peculiar it was to her that Mycroft had a sibling and couldn't help but wonder what kind of person he could be.

"Do you live with him, Mycroft?" She asked, leaning her head to the side a tad.

"No. But you will." He replied easily, missing the shock that flashed across her face.

"Excuse me?" Her mouth trembled. She had absolutely no idea of that arrangement. He hadn't told her anything so she had assumed she would be staying with him since he had claimed he could help her.

"I'm afraid I can't help you personally, Miss Doyle." He responded. "Do not fret, my brother will help you in my place." Though, he did not tell her if Sherlock could succeed in aiding her with what she needed. Truth to be told, helping the girl hadn't been in his plans at all. When the opportunity came up, he couldn't help but think that perhaps sending her to his brother could keep him in check; he would have something to occupy him for a while so he wouldn't fall into his drugs as he had last year.

Although the older Holmes wouldn't dare to admit it, he did care for his little brother a lot. Seeing him in the state he had been last year and sending him to rehab had almost been soul wrecking but it was something that had to be done. As much as he tried to convince himself he had helped Sherlock so their parents wouldn't worry, he knew, deep down, that he had been very concerned about him. That was the reason why he had decided to keep a very close eye to him after his treatment was over and the reason why he was sending young Claire Doyle to him.

The seventeen year old, to his surprise, was very quiet and calm. He had deduced from the start, delightfully so, that despite her submissive nature she could be very determinated and stubborn should she chose to. The kindness in her eyes was very clear too. She was quite smart as well, not as much as him though. Perhaps, a little close to Sherlock's level but not quite, not yet. Nevertheless, it was sure that she wouldn't be an absolute bore to his brother.

It didn't take long until they arrived at their destination. The two got out of the car, staring at the large red building in front of them.


End file.
